


An Afternoon Interruption

by MissDavis



Series: Could Be Fun [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: ALL the slash, Also canon-compliant, Anal Sex, Cunnilingus, Everyone Stays in Character I Swear, Except maybe for all the sex, Femslash, Foursome - F/F/M/M, Hand Jobs, Het and Slash, I can't help it that's just how I write, I should stop tagging now, I've never actually had a foursome though, Johnlockary - Freeform, Johnlockaryally, Male Slash, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Realistic sex or at least that's what I meant it to be, Vaginal Sex, more or less
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 15:49:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4269165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissDavis/pseuds/MissDavis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary heard Sherlock exhale sharply; John had elbowed him before he could make a comment that could change Sally's mind.  <em>Well done, John.  Keep him in line and this could go very well. </em>  She swallowed and let her hands drop to tighten the ties on her dressing gown, then wondered why she was tightening them.  "Come on, then," she said, and took Sally by the hand to lead her down the hall to the bedroom.  John and Sherlock were whispering to each other but she didn't look back and after a moment she heard them following.</p><p>Part of a series but also stands alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Afternoon Interruption

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know it just seemed like a good idea at the time.

Mary opened the door to find Sally Donovan standing on her front stoop. She pulled her dressing gown a little tighter around herself, suddenly aware that she wasn't wearing much beneath it and that it was 1:30 on a Saturday afternoon. She'd been a bit distracted when she went to answer the insistently ringing bell—the boys had just started kissing.

"Oh, Mary, sorry, were you?" Sally straightened up, pulled her professional look back on. "I don't mean to interrupt, but I really need to have John sign a couple things from yesterday's case. Greg's been a nightmare about it after what happened to his car and I've already been by the freak's flat to try to get him to sign but his landlady said he wasn't in."

 _No, that's because he's in my bedroom with John._ Mary cleared her throat and smiled. "I'll just go get him. Won't be a sec. Er, you can come in if you want." She stepped back to let Sally in, even though what she really wanted to do was tell her to come back another time. But she thought she'd probably be able to get rid of her and get back to the bedroom more quickly if she just got John out here to sign the stupid forms instead of arguing about it. Sally Donovan wasn't really one to take no for an answer, from what Mary had seen of her. Which made Mary like her, just a bit, despite the way Sally tended to treat Sherlock and John. 

"John, can you come out here, please?" she called down the hall. He popped his head out of the bedroom, questioning, and she hissed the word "shirt" at him, probably loud enough for Sally to hear, but it's not like she couldn't already tell what they were doing. Well, the basics of what they were doing, anyway. She might be a decent detective but she probably hadn't deduced that she'd interrupted a threesome. 

John disappeared back into the bedroom, then came out, strolling down the hall, casually buttoning his shirt. He smiled a hello at Sally and she had the grace to look away, but Mary saw her glance back before John was quite all the way buttoned up. _Can't really blame her for looking, now, can I?_ Mary grinned at Sally and Sally turned away, clearly embarrassed. Lately Mary had started forgetting that not everyone was quite so _open_ in their relationships. Not good—she needed to watch herself. If she started letting secrets slip in one part of her life it might be all too easy for that to bleed over into other parts, and she really couldn't afford that. 

John sat down at the kitchen table to sign the statements that Sally had brought him, chatting about the case as he did so. Mary watched Sally relax; eventually she slid into the chair across from John and agreed to the cup of tea that Mary offered.

Mary switched the kettle on and grabbed a couple of cups out of the cabinet. It wouldn't kill Sherlock to wait a few minutes, though he probably wouldn't be too pleased when he found out it was Sally Donovan that had delayed their little bedroom romp. Mary didn't know her well, but she'd been around Sherlock and the detectives at the Yard enough to know about the antagonism between them. Though, honestly, she didn't really think Sally was a bad person, even if she had been spectacularly wrong on occasion. Mary's impression was that the bad feelings between Sally and Sherlock pre-dated the accusations she'd made against him before he'd jumped off that building, though. God knew Sherlock could rub people the wrong way _—also the right way, stop it, don't thing about that—_ and Mary could imagine how frustrating it would be to have Sherlock show up and belittle you constantly while you were trying to do your job. And while Mary certainly had done even worse things to Sherlock than Sally had, he had never really held it against her, while he seemed determined to dislike Sally. Mary didn't really understand it, but she wasn't about to hate Sally just because Sherlock did. Greg seemed to respect her and Mary thought that must mean something. Plus, her blouses were always cut just low enough— _shit. Where did that come from?_ Way too much sex on her brain, clearly. Mary turned away from Sally and John and concentrated on making the tea.

John was finished with the paperwork before the tea was ready. If Mary had been a little less polite Sally would be out of here by now. She sighed. Well, they had all day. Hopefully Sherlock wouldn't mind being stuck in the bedroom a little longer.

Maybe he was psychic, because as soon as Mary had that thought Sherlock's voice boomed out from the bedroom. "Have you both forgotten about me?" 

_Shit._ Mary jumped at his voice and the hot water she was pouring sloshed over the side of the cup and pooled on the counter. "Shit!" 

John glanced over at her quickly, probably making sure she hadn't burned herself, then turned his attention back to Sally. He swept all the papers he'd just signed into a pile and pushed them across the table toward her. "Er, just have Greg text me if there's anything else he needs."

Too late. Mary heard the bedroom door open and Sherlock was walking down the hall and _shit, shit, shit._

"Hello, Sally." Sherlock sauntered into the kitchen and leaned against the worktop, chest bare, wearing a dressing gown and pyjama bottoms that were clearly too short to be his. John froze for half a second, then rose from the table, fists clenched. He looked like he did the day Sherlock had come back from the dead: ready to kill him. Mary didn't blame him. Sherlock had done this on purpose, she realized. He knew Sally was here, and he came out of the bedroom wearing nothing but John's nightclothes on purpose. _Oh, my God. Poor John is never going to live this down, and Sherlock is enjoying it, the git._

Sally was frozen in her seat, staring across the room at Sherlock, mouth slightly open. John shoved the papers at her again, as if that might distract her and she would just pick them up and leave.

To her credit, Sally got herself collected before any of the rest of them did. "I really didn't mean to intrude on . . . all of you. I'm sorry, I'll just let myself out." She stood up quickly from the table, grabbing at the jumble of papers and dropping several of them on the floor in her rush. Mary squatted to help her with them and Sally practically jumped away when their hands touched. "Sorry, sorry!" She accepted the last of the papers and stood, visibly getting herself back under control with a shake of her head. "Don't even know why I'm surprised, really," she muttered.

Sally turned to walk out of the kitchen and Sherlock pushed himself away from the worktop, stepping into her path. He crossed his arms and looked down at her. "So an affair with a married person is fine, as long as both halves of the marriage aren't involved. Is that how it works?"

Sally straightened up and looked him in the eye, obviously not at all intimidated; Mary didn't think she would've been even if he hadn't been barefoot and wearing pyjamas. "You stay out of my business and I'll stay out of yours." 

"Hmm, yes, I should stay out of your business," Sherlock responded. "Don't want to be slumming, after all, since I dare say the three of us are quite a step up from your usual sexual interests."

"Sherlock!" John shouted his name just as Mary did the same. Sally really didn't react at all, just quickly cut her gaze away from Sherlock and stepped past him, in the direction of the front door. Mary was impressed with how she managed to not rise to Sherlock's taunting, but then she must have had a lot of practice over the years. 

Sherlock turned as Sally walked past him, following her movements, eyes narrowed. He leaned back against the worktop again, tapping the fingers of his left hand against the wooden cabinet beneath it while he twirled the loose belt of John's dressing gown in his right. After a moment he smiled a wide, predatory smile. "Oh." His posture shifted, shoulders softening. "That could be an interesting experiment." He made a low, amused sound deep in his throat and Sally stopped walking, poised on the threshold between the kitchen and the hallway to the front room. 

It took Mary a moment longer to catch on than it did Sherlock; she probably wouldn't have gotten there at all if she hadn't seen him as he made his deduction. She swallowed and met his eyes; yes, he had definitely come to the same conclusion. _That's insane, an absolutely ridiculous, terrible idea._ Also, surprisingly, very, very tempting. She stood from where she squatted on the floor and sat back down at the table, feeling the satiny slide of her dressing gown against her negligee and the knickers underneath, which were suddenly damp with anticipation.

Sally still stood in the doorway, her back to the three of them; Mary wished she knew her well enough to know what she was thinking. She looked over at John. He might not be at Sherlock's level of genius but he certainly wasn't slow, her John. She tried to read his feelings on the matter, but his face was almost too expressive at the moment—he wasn't sure what to think, either. As she looked at him he tore his gaze away from Sherlock and met her eyes. _Yes._ They were in agreement, though they both found it almost as terrifying as they did exciting.

John thrived on terror, though—she watched him push it down and bring bravado up in its place. And sex appeal. Oh, God, how could he do that, just turn it on like that? Not that he ever turned it off, but looking at him now, at his smile and the tilt of his head, made the heat between her thighs spread upwards and she had to clench and lean forward for a moment. 

John pushed the chair back from the table and stood, took two short steps toward Sally and said, "We didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. You don't need to rush out. Finish your tea, at least?" He reached out and gave a brief touch to her elbow.

Sally turned around at his touch—just a brush against her blouse, really—and John smiled at her, his face unassuming and open. _Inviting._ Mary thought she might melt into a puddle right here at her own kitchen table, and then John and Sherlock would get to have all this new kind of fun without her.

Sally swallowed and returned John's gaze, not smiling but not frowning, either. Her jaw clenched and then released and she looked away from him, across the kitchen to Mary. 

And then Sherlock had to go and open his mouth again. "Well, Sally, clearly you've never been with another woman, but you've thought about it, haven't you? You're thinking about it right now."

"Sherlock!" Mary pulled her dressing gown tight around her and shot him a look.

"Oh, come on, Mary, she smells even more lustful than you."

"Shut up, Sherlock." John looked over his shoulder to glare at Sherlock; when Sherlock didn't back down he turned and stepped close into Sherlock's space and stared him down from six inches below. "What is wrong with you? I'm not even sure if you're trying to seduce her, but that is not how you go about it."

"Oh? Right, you're the expert on women." Sherlock crossed his arms and leaned back against the worktop, distancing himself from John's glare. "So how would you go about it, then? Getting Sally Donovan to join the three of us."

John stared at Sherlock for a moment, back perfectly straight, hands curled into fists at his side, then turned to face Sally again. Mary watched him transform once more, spine and shoulders softening, fingers unclenching, eyes crinkling in that absolutely adorable way he had. She tried to remember what he'd said when they first met—would he use a similar line on Sally? She definitely did not anticipate what he actually said. "Sally, if you're at all inclined to kiss my wife, I would be more than interested in watching."

Mary suppressed the sound that tried to emerge from her throat, then stood up, looking down at her hands splayed flat on the table because she was too afraid to look at Sally and see what her reaction was. No one said anything, and Mary took a deep breath and resolved to be brave. She'd certainly done more frightening things in her life, just not in this context. She looked across the room and locked eyes with Sally.

Sally broke the gaze after a moment, but the flutter of panic Mary felt at the thought of rejection didn't have a chance to grow. Sally tipped up her chin to meet John's darkened, clearly aroused eyes. "Sherlock's wrong. I definitely prefer men but my flatmate and I fooled around quite a bit in uni." She threw a smirk over at Sherlock, who didn't react except to lean forward a barely perceptible amount, then she turned all the way around and strode back over to the kitchen table. 

Mary took one more glance at John's flushed face and then met Sally's eyes and gave a nod. Sally leaned in and brushed her lips against Mary's, just a touch. Her lips were warm, fuller than John's or Sherlock's and instead of the scratch of stubble there was the unfamiliar slick of someone else's lip gloss. 

Sally pulled back and put her hand up to her mouth. Mary's stomach dropped; her first girl-on-girl kiss and she'd done it wrong? But no, instead, Sally said, "Sorry, I taste like stale coffee and you're all minty fresh."

Mary laughed. "That's just because we were—" She gestured at the boys. "So I'd just brushed my teeth." She swallowed and looked at Sally again, really looked at her. "Do you want to—?" God, she hadn't been this shy in, well, ever, really.

Sally glanced over at John and Sherlock and then back at Mary and then reached up to run her first finger over her own bottom lip. "Yeah, I think I do. God help me, this is the stupidest thing I've ever done."

Mary heard Sherlock exhale sharply; John had elbowed him before he could make a comment that could change Sally's mind. _Well done, John. Keep him in line and this could go very well._ She swallowed and let her hands drop to tighten the ties on her dressing gown, then wondered why she was tightening them. "Come on, then," she said, and took Sally by the hand to lead her down the hall to the bedroom. John and Sherlock were whispering to each other but she didn't look back and after a moment she heard them following.

The curtains were drawn in the bedroom but since it was the middle of the afternoon the room was still fairly bright. Mary looked around as Sally did, and saw how it would look to her: rumples in the sheets of the king-sized bed that clearly showed where there'd been bodies a few minutes ago, a tube of lubricant as well as a wrapped condom sitting ready on the bedside table—they hadn't discussed what they'd be doing earlier and so were ready for anything. Suddenly Mary felt a little flutter of panic. _Oh my God, there is another person here and she's seen what we've been doing and what the hell was I thinking she's going to tell everyone. Fuck._

But Sally didn't say anything about the condom or the lube or whether the room already smelled of arousal. Instead she pointed to the monitor that also sat on the nightstand. "Where's the baby?"

"She's with my mother." Sherlock leaned in the doorway, put a long arm around John's shoulders; John eased back into the touch, looking at Sally as if daring her to comment. "She's decided she won't be getting grandchildren of her own so she steals little Alice whenever she gets the chance. Works out nicely for us."

"Let me get this straight. Your _mother_ babysits so the three of you can have sex together." Mary couldn't tell if Sally was impressed or horrified. 

"Mum doesn't know about the sex part, obviously." Sherlock lowered his head to nuzzle John's hair and then added, "I don't think."

Sally shook her head and let out a huff of laughter. "Unbelievable," she said, and then repeated it, softer, almost under her breath.

John reached back toward Sherlock and ran his hand down Sherlock's hip and thigh, not looking away from Mary and Sally as he did so. Sherlock canted his hip into John's touch, then pushed himself away from the door jamb, letting his dressing gown fall to the ground with a graceful shrug of his shoulders. "I believe Mary was watching us kiss before Sally interrupted." His voice rumbled deeper than normal; Mary could never tell if he did that on purpose or if it just happened naturally.

Sherlock put a hand up on John's shoulder and John turned toward his touch, an elegant move between the two of them that made it look as if they'd been rehearsing for years. They had been, really, though Mary knew it had only grown so intimate in the last year or so, after everything in their lives finally settled down. She didn't think she could ever really make up for shooting Sherlock, but bringing the two of them together had certainly gone a long way toward that goal. Plus she got to do a hell of a lot more than watch.

John tipped his head up and Sherlock tipped his head down and Mary inhaled and then checked to see what Sally thought. She was watching, too, though she looked somewhat skeptical, a hand on her hip and a bit of a frown on her face, as if working through a difficult problem in her head.

"Sally?" If Mary waited she would lose her nerve, and she could still taste Sally's lip gloss and wanted to taste more.  
Sally watched the boys for a moment longer, and then swallowed audibly and turned to where Mary sat on the bed. She tipped her head to the side and then straightened up again, clearly assessing. Mary felt exposed, though she was still wrapped and belted into her dressing gown. 

"You've never done this before, have you?"

Mary shook her head and tried to keep herself from bringing her thumb up to her mouth to chew on her nail. 

Sally smiled and stepped out of her flats. "So I'll just go first, hmm?" She pulled her blouse over her head in one smooth motion and unsnapped her bra without even a pause. The clasp was in the front, between her breasts; she shrugged her shoulders and let the straps slip off behind her.

 _Oh._ Sally wasn't overly large, but her breasts were round and pert and perfect. Suddenly Mary's self-consciousness had a specific focus: she was bigger than Sally but older and more saggy, especially since the baby had stopped nursing. 

Sally sat down next to her on the bed and brought one knee up, tucking her foot beneath her thigh so she could face Mary. "Do you mind? I'd like to—" She looked at Mary's chest and then up at her face. 

"Go ahead. That's what we're here for." She smiled, embarrassment, curiosity and lust all roiling through her, making it hard to maintain her usual self-confidence. _This must be how Sherlock felt the first time he was with me and John._ She glanced across the room; the boys were still kissing but they were both shirtless now, and Sherlock had shed his borrowed pyjama bottoms and was wearing only his pants.

Sally brought her hands up to the lapel of Mary's dressing gown and Mary pulled loose the tie and let Sally slip it off her shoulders, revealing the negligee beneath it, too scanty and impractical for her to wear to bed at night but perfect for an afternoon with the boys.

Sally traced her finger around the outline of Mary's nipple and then lowered her head to mouth lightly at the lacy fabric. Mary pursed her lips and tried to enjoy it but apparently she wasn't very good at faking it. 

"What's wrong?" Sally asked, raising her head again and gently cupping Mary's breast. "Don't you like that?"

Mary looked down at Sally's fingers on her chest. It must look like she liked it: her nipple had peaked, its outline clear beneath the nightie. "I can barely feel it," she admitted. "Ever since the baby stopped nursing, I don't have very much sensation."

"Really?"

"Yeah. No one ever tells you these things before it's too late, do they?" Mary laughed a little and Sally grinned and then gave a hard tweak to Mary's nipple. Mary gasped, her shoulders rocking forward automatically and Sally caught her mouth in a kiss, longer and deeper than the one she had given in the kitchen.

This time neither of them cut it short, and Mary was back in familiar territory; she knew how to kiss. She put her hands on Sally's shoulders and Sally slid closer to her, which Mary took as an invitation to touch her more. She let her right hand go to the back of Sally's neck, beneath the thick waves of her hair, and her left slide down Sally's front until she encountered soft flesh; she circled her nipple with her thumb and Sally let out a soft sigh, so different from the sounds men always made, though Mary doubted if she herself ever sounded so feminine, either.

They were still sitting next to each other, which was a bit limiting; Mary wasn't sure how far this whole thing was going to go, but she was eager to find out. She shifted on the bed and pulled Sally with her. "Mm, hang on," Sally said, and stood up to remove her trousers. She left her pants on, tiny little knickers that were as impractical as the pair Mary wore, just a scrap of fabric barely covering anything; apparently that was what Sally normally wore under her plain workday outfit. Mary let her eyes roam—no hair peeking out from the knickers, so she must shave or wax. She knew Sally saw her reaction, the way she swallowed and wet her lips before pulling her back down to kiss more. Sally straddled her, this time, Mary lying horizontally across the bed, parallel to the pillows, her gown puddled behind her but still wearing the negligee. Sally's tongue was in her mouth and her hands were on her bare skin and their legs were pressed together: so much skin, soft and smooth and warm. Mary wrapped one arm around Sally's back and put the other one in her hair, just above her ear, and felt their breasts slide against each other through the slick fabric of her nightgown. 

"Holy shit." That was John; Mary hadn't forgotten he was there, but she hadn't thought about it, either. She pulled her face away from Sally's enough to catch sight of him across the room. He grinned at her and then scrambled out of his trousers and pants, kicking them into the pile of clothes he and Sherlock had already discarded. Then he stood looking at Mary and Sally, hands on his hips, still grinning. 

Sally sat back on her heels and glanced over her shoulder at John, then looked again, eyes widening. She turned her head back to Mary. "That's . . . impressive." 

"Yeah, I know." She remembered the first time she'd seen John naked, how surprised she'd been at his size. Sally raised her eyebrows approvingly and Mary couldn't help but feel a little burst of pride, ridiculous as that was. She reached for Sally's shoulders and pulled her back down again, letting her legs splay out to either side so Sally was lying on top of her.

John swore again and Sherlock made a noise that sounded somewhat dismissive. Mary could hear them moving but she didn't want to pull away from Sally again, and she'd seen everything they could do to each other before anyway. Having Sally sprawled on top of her like this, that was new and worth her attention. She ran her hands down the length of Sally's back, feeling bones under a layer of thin muscle, so different from John's compact solidity and Sherlock's wiry strength. 

"Sherlock, on the bed, facedown, now." John's voice was rough and certain. Sally broke the kiss and whipped her head around to look at them. 

Sherlock kicked his pants into the pile of clothes on the floor and then crossed the room to the bed. "I prefer this side." He stood next to the bed, as if expecting Sally and Mary to move at his word. Mary didn't really care what side of the bed they were on, but Sally pushed herself up to sitting and crossed her arms over her bare chest; the loss of her body heat gave Mary gooseflesh.

"Not the time to have a stare down," John said, and gave Sherlock a push toward the empty bottom half of the bed. Sherlock took an involuntary step forward, shot John a glare over his shoulder, and then fell as dramatically as he could, face first onto the bed, legs spread and arse on offer. John grabbed him by the thighs and hauled him back a bit; the bed was just the right height when John was standing next to it.

Sally seemed to have forgotten what she and Mary were doing, and Mary didn't blame her. John and Sherlock naked, cocks flushed and hard as they tumbled into bed together: it was hard to ignore. Mary could see her eyeing up the scars on both men, but she didn't comment; the scars on Sherlock's back were the worst, but it was clear how he had gotten them. 

John grabbed the tube of lubricant from the table, motioned at Mary and Sally before he opened it "Come on, now, don't you two stop. That's half the appeal, watching you." 

Sally turned to look down at Mary, then shot a glance back at John, who was concentrating on drizzling lube over his fingers and Sherlock's arse. Sally shook her head and then lowered herself onto Mary again. "Not the way I thought that would go," she muttered, and Mary wanted to bite the smirk right off her face.

"They do it both ways," she said, and pulled Sally closer. "We all do it all the ways. Problem?"

"Not at all, definitely not. I just—"

"Oh my God, you've thought about John and Sherlock being together before." She pushed up on Sally's shoulders so she could see her face more clearly.

"Well, yeah. Of course I have. Look at them." She waved her hand at the boys and then met Mary's eyes. "Who wouldn't think about that? It was all anyone at the Yard ever talked about before you came along. It's just—Sherlock's so dominant every other way." Her cheeks darkened at that and Mary decided now was not the time to enlighten Sally on stereotypes versus actual sexual practices.

Mary glanced over at the boys again. Sherlock had turned his head to look at them, smirking, his face about a foot from Mary's chest. The expression didn't last, though; John started using a finger on him and he closed his eyes and made a low moaning noise that sounded partly like an objection and partly like pleasure and made Mary's skin heat. It appeared to have the same effect on Sally; you didn't need to like Sherlock to find the effects of his voice irresistible.

Sally took a long, deep breath; Mary could feel her exhalation echoing through her own body. She lifted her hand from the bed and Sally took it, let herself be drawn into a kiss again, but after a moment pushed herself up to sitting once more. "If they're going to . . . I want to—" Rather than completing the thought Sally slipped one finger beneath the elastic band of Mary's knickers.

Mary inhaled sharply. "Yes," she said, even though she wasn't completely sure what Sally wanted to do. She scrambled out of her knickers, wondering briefly if she should be trying to move more seductively but settling for not kicking Sally as she tossed the pants aside. Sally brushed the tips of her fingers over Mary's hair, untrimmed and several shades darker than the hair on her head and Mary couldn't stop herself from tilting her hips up, trying to make more contact with Sally's slim hand. 

Sally stroked her fingers down through the hair and then back up, spreading wetness around. Mary squirmed and pulled her nightgown up higher, exposing her stomach, thankful she was on her back because that made it easy to hide the extra weight she'd never lost after the baby. 

"Mm, Mary, hang on, let me just—" Sally slipped off the bed and stood next to John while she hopped out of her knickers. John watched her and put his free hand out to steady her when she teetered for a moment. She smiled in thanks and John grinned back and then gave his cock a couple of strokes before stepping up to the bed and sinking it into Sherlock. 

Sally gaped, then scrambled back onto the bed to kneel over Mary. Mary still wondered exactly what Sally intended, but then Sally touched her again, only this time she also touched herself, and they moaned in unison. Sally had indeed waxed and looked smooth and tight compared to Mary. She didn't seem to mind, though—she rubbed at them both as she knelt over Mary, head tipped back and mouth slightly open. Mary let her eyes slip closed so she wouldn't keep comparing their bodies and allowed herself to enjoy the feeling of Sally's hand. Sally's fingers stroked and circled and then stopped. Mary flicked her eyes open to see Sally walk her knees back and then drop onto her stomach between Mary's legs. She gently spread Mary's thighs a bit farther apart and then lowered her head.

Sally's lips were cooler than Mary expected, or maybe Mary herself was overly warm. Sally licked from back to front and then followed the same path with her fingers. Mary tried to hold back the sounds that were trying to escape as she writhed under Sally's touch, then decided that given what they were doing she had no reason to censor herself. The moans seemed to encourage Sally; she found Mary's clit with her tongue and then slipped a finger inside of her. Again Mary felt a twinge of insecurity—she was so stretched out compared to how she'd been before the baby—but then Sally added a second finger and curved them upward and Mary stopped caring. 

She closed her eyes and rocked her hips in time to the rhythm that Sally set and listened to the boys on the bed next to her. Neither of them were quiet; John was grunting with every thrust he made and Sherlock answered him with breathless whimpers, higher than his usual voice but still unmistakably masculine. 

Sally kept working at her with her tongue, hard and fast, her two fingers also moving. She wasn't fingering her deeply like the boys would've been by now, though; instead she concentrated on circling and pressing just inside. Mary didn't think she'd ever had anyone do that to her before; every man she'd ever known tended to focus on getting as deeply into her as possible, whether it was with a cock or fingers or tongue. When she masturbated she usually just focused on her clit, but God, Sally knew what the hell she was doing. 

Mary felt herself creeping close to orgasm but wanted to hold it off as long as possible. She didn't want to be the first person in the room to come, especially since she was also a little unsure about reciprocating once Sally had finished. It seemed rude not to offer, given that Sally's mouth felt so amazing, but she didn't like to smell or taste herself on anyone else and she couldn't imagine that she would like the taste of another woman any better. Maybe she could use one of the toys in her nightstand instead. Or maybe Sally would want John to—Mary's mind stuttered at the thought. Yes, they were all here in bed together and yes, she and John both regularly had sex with Sherlock, but the idea of watching John with another woman did not appeal. Did that make her a hypocrite? Maybe. Maybe not. She didn't mind John being with Sherlock—she actively enjoyed it, in fact—but Sherlock was different. Not because he was a man but because John loved him and he loved John; they had loved each other long before Mary met either of them. And she loved Sherlock, too, now, though maybe not with quite the same intensity.

Mary swallowed and then glanced over at John and Sherlock. John was no longer paying any attention to them at all—he was entirely focused on what he was doing to Sherlock, and if Mary was any judge he wasn't going to last much more than another minute. She watched him pound into Sherlock's arse, short, fast strokes that were beginning to lose all rhythm. He still grunted each time, his voice climbing higher. Sherlock had quieted now, though he still thrust back against John's every move. As she watched, Sherlock's eyes flicked up to meet Mary's and then he snaked his hand across the bed until his fingers found hers. Mary wrapped her hand around his and squeezed, hard, and he groaned. Sally raised her head from between Mary's thighs and Mary laughed at her expression of surprise. "I told you," she said, breathless with what they were all doing. "It's all three of us. All ways."

Sally shook her head and muttered something that was clearly about Sherlock and a distant part of Mary's mind knew she should object or defend him or something, but she didn't. Sally's mouth between her legs felt too good and anyway he was certainly capable of defending himself if he wanted to. He didn't even look at Sally—he just pushed his arse up higher into the air as John clutched at his hips and gasped Sherlock's name. Mary lifted her head from the bed to get a better view and Sally turned away from her for a moment and they both watched as John's back went rigid, a long keening noise escaping him. 

After a few moments John let himself fall forward onto Sherlock, his right hand coming up to cover Mary's and Sherlock's. He kept his face buried against Sherlock's back, then when he'd caught his breath he turned to look at Mary. "That was. You two—" He waved at her and Sally. He pushed himself back up on one hand, ran the other over Sherlock's mutilated back. "Mm, you want to turn over for me?"

Sherlock lifted his head and rolled his neck, shot a sideways glance at Mary and Sally. "No, get up," he told John. "I've got other plans." 

John raised his eyebrows but climbed off Sherlock, looked down at him once he was standing. "You're a bit of a mess, sorry." 

Sherlock stood and swiped a hand over his own arse; it came away covered in come. He looked down at himself—he was still fully erect—and grunted, then said "Excuse me," his voice somehow as cultured as ever. He crossed the room and slammed the door to the loo shut behind him. 

Once Sherlock was out of sight Sally went back to what she'd been doing, licking and sucking and flicking with her tongue. Mary forgot about him until he re-emerged and stalked his way over to the bed once more. She looked up at him; he was still hard, holding the condom packet in his right hand, spinning it between his fingers. Oh God, she knew what he wanted to do, and she wanted it, but she also didn't want Sally to stop. 

Sally didn't acknowledge him, though he stood behind her, watching. She was lying on her stomach between Mary's outstretched legs. Mary rocked her hips up, grinding against Sally's tongue. Sally pressed back harder and Mary resolved to tell Sherlock he was going to have to wait his turn. He tore open the condom packet and rolled it on and she opened her mouth to tell him no but he spoke before she had the chance. 

"Sally." Just the name, in his sex-deepened voice, not spoken in scorn as it usually was. Mary felt a small twinge that she knew heralded the beginning of her climax and she pulled back from Sally's touch, not wanting to finish already. Did Sherlock really—?

He settled one hand on Sally's shoulder, long fingers curving over the narrow bone. Sally didn't respond to him directly, just leaned forward more to give Mary another lick, and Mary gasped at the contact. She tried to tamp down the intensity of feeling, but she knew she wouldn't last long, whatever Sherlock or Sally did next. And then Sherlock dropped to his knees on the floor behind Sally, and Sally's middle finger pushed up just a little bit more firmly inside Mary, and Mary brought her own hand down to sweep in between Sally's tongue and her own clit and that was it, no more waiting or holding it off, just pleasure washing through her in waves until it finally peaked and she could breathe again.

Sally waited until Mary stopped shaking and then planted a kiss in the middle of her mound of hair. She smiled up at her and then pushed herself up on her hands and slid slowly off the bed. She didn't turn to look at Sherlock, but he was waiting behind her, kneeling patiently on the floor. He caught her as she sank into his lap, pushed her hair to one side, and then ran his hand over her shoulder and down the slope of her ribs, stopping when he reached her hip. She shifted on his lap and he slid his hand lower, adjusting himself beneath her.

Sally turned her head to one side, spoke to Sherlock. "Not—"

"I know where to put it." His voice was part friendly, part combative, part lewd. 

"Oh God, he does," Mary confirmed, and dropped back to lie flat on the bed for a moment. Were they really going to—? Despite all the thoughts she'd had since they entered this room, this combination had never occurred to her.

Someone was touching her shoulder, but Sally and Sherlock were still on the floor next to the bed. Oh God, yes, they were. The noises they made, the way Sally's lips turned down in concentration as she rocked back and forth on Sherlock: Mary dropped a hand down to touch herself again. 

"Mary, love, sit up." John was standing next to her, on the far side of the bed from Sally and Sherlock. She lifted her head and shoulders and he slid onto the bed beneath her, sitting up against the headboard so she could use his thighs as a pillow. His cock was partially hard again; she brought her hand up to touch him and he settled his own hand over hers, holding it still. "Are you seeing this?"

She was seeing it: Sally's back pressed against Sherlock's chest, the contrast of his pale, scarred skin versus hers, darker and smooth. Neither one of them made a sound or any sort of acknowledgement of the other, as if they could ignore one another even as their bodies met amid wrested pleasure. Sally's small breasts perked with every jolt of her hips; Sherlock laid a large hand over one of them and Sally bit at her lip and dropped her own hand between her thighs. Now she made a noise; Mary recalled the feel of those fingers and whimpered in empathy. John's hand stroked at her temple and she arched into his touch. 

Sherlock let go of Sally's breast and curled his arm around her waist, giving a series of short, quick snaps with his hips before loosening his grip. Sally whined and leaned forward, resting her left arm against the bed, her right hand still moving furiously between her own legs. She buried her face in her arm and whimpered again. Sherlock growled in response and snapped his hips more, hands splayed across her back. Mary saw Sally's fingers tighten in the bedsheet, her face hidden as she rutted frantically atop Sherlock before suddenly going still.

"Just." Sherlock grunted the word. He reached up and pinched his own nipple, groaning as he dug his nail into the pinkened flesh. He thrust his hips up hard one more time and kept his mouth closed as he moaned, a deep, victorious, primal sound. His face contorted in a long moment of pleasure and then he dropped both hands to the floor, shifting his weight to lean back away from Sally, who was still slumped against the bed.

"Oh God, Mary." John pulled at her shoulders and she rose to meet his lips, brushing her hand against herself as she did, making another wave crest through her whole body. It wasn't as thorough as the climax that had come at Sally's lips, more of an aftershock than a true orgasm, but she wished time would stand still so she could feel like this forever. 

John kissed her until she felt steady again, then shifted so they were both sitting up against the pillows. Sherlock clamored to his feet and pulled off the condom, returned to the loo to dispose of it. Sally stayed where she was a moment longer, collapsed against the side of the bed, then slowly stood up and started to dress.

"I can't stay. I have to go back to work."

Sherlock strolled out of the loo and settled himself in the armchair near Mary's wardrobe, unashamedly naked. "Don't worry. No one at the Yard will deduce what you've done."

Sally snorted a laugh. "Even if they did they wouldn't believe it." She adjusted the fall of her blouse at her waist without looking at anyone in the room.

John draped an arm over Mary's shoulders and spoke to Sally, his voice open and light. "You're welcome to come back anytime."

Sally hesitated. "I think once was probably enough," she said, and slipped on her shoes.

"Right," Sherlock said. 

Mary had no idea how to interpret his tone. She wanted to intervene but didn't know what to say. She wiggled out from beneath John's arm and slid off the bed. With her shoes on Sally had a bit of height on her; Mary tipped her head up. "I had a good time," she said.

Sally met her eyes and gave a small nod, then turned to go.

"Don't forget your paperwork," Sherlock said as she walked past him. Sally crossed her arms over her chest in response. Mary started to follow her from the room, but Sally turned in the doorway and held up a hand to stop her. "I'll let myself out. Please." 

"Okay." Mary exhaled. Sally turned and walked out, head held high, and Mary turned back to Sherlock and John.


End file.
